Duncan M. Hamilton
Dragonslayer
The Dragonslayer Trilogy - 1
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Brother Poncet crouched on the scree-covered mountain slope clutching his cream robe about himself, and watched his comrade, Brother Ambrose, inch into the pitch-dark cavern before them. He remained a few paces behind, still out in the sunlight, although at that altitude it did little to warm him. Up that high, it was always cold, even in summer.
Brother Ambrose lifted his small magelamp up to the darkness. The glowing sphere was caged in a mirrored housing, so all of its power shone into the blackness before him. The light reached in, but not far enough to fall on any surface.
“See anything?” Poncet said, his breath misting on the air. Poncet hated the cold, and counted the moments until he could get back to the campfire and his bedroll. Going home would be even better, but that wasn’t likely anytime soon. He had thought himself lucky when the Order had recruited him several years before. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Crouching in the cold on the side of a mountain was very far removed from the adventures he had imagined back then.
“Nothing,” Ambrose said, scratching his thick black hair. “Just darkness. Hellloooooooo!”
The sound of his voice bounced around in the abyss, repeated time after time.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Poncet said. This was his first mission, and he was determined not to see it go wrong through foolishness. Ambrose didn’t seem to have the same concern.
“Why not?”
“You never know what’s in there.”
Ambrose laughed. “Afraid we’ll get savaged by a mountain goat?”
“No.” He thought for a moment and realised his comment was born from a fear of the dark, the unknown. Something only children were supposed to be afraid of—not a brother of the Order of the Golden Spur. Finally, he came up with something worthy. “A belek, perhaps.”
“It’s summer. Even up this high, it isn’t cold enough for them. They stay where the snow is. Commander Leverre told us so.”
Poncet noticed that all the mirth had left Ambrose’s voice, even if he still sounded confident. Only a fool took belek for granted. Even if Brother-Commander Felix Leverre told them to the contrary and swore it on his mother’s grave. “Ever seen one?”
“Once, when I was young,” Ambrose said. “The Duke of Trelain used to hunt them every winter. Sometimes the king would travel west to join him. They rarely found any, but I remember one year when they did, and killed it. Not before it had killed half a dozen huntsmen and the Count of Dreville, though. They paraded its body through the streets of Trelain. Like a cat, it was, but the size of a bear. A big bear. Fur the colour of steel and fangs as long as your forearm.”
Even with all of his training, Poncet didn’t like the idea of meeting such a creature. He wondered if that made him a coward, or if experience would ease his fear of such things—if each mission he did would bring him closer to the calm confidence of Commander Leverre.
“We’ll have to go in for a closer look,” Poncet said.
“It’s probably just another dead end.”
“Probably, but Brother-Commander Leverre said it’s close. We need to search every corner.”
Ambrose sighed. “We could search these mountains for a lifetime, and not find anything. We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”
“The commander does. It’s not for us to question our superiors. We simply do what we’re told. I want to be back by the fire as much as you do.”
“What we’re told,” Ambrose said. “We’ll need more light for starters. The cavern looks big; we’ll be quicker if we send back to camp for the others.”
“Should we bother them?”
“You said yourself that Commander Leverre thinks we’re close. Every hole we look into now might be the spot. Need to be thorough.”
Poncet nodded. “I suppose I have to go?”
“It’s your turn.”
Poncet bundled his robe up around his knees and started down the rocky slope, careful not to get his sword tangled between his legs. The mountains were littered with caves, but few were big enough to provide good shelter from the elements or to require much manpower for a proper search. Ambrose’s description of the belek planted enough of a seed in Poncet’s mind for his imagination to do the rest. As hard as the scramble up and down the mountainside was, he was glad they would have strength in numbers for the search. Gladder still that Commander Leverre would take charge, freeing Poncet from any difficult decisions.
Brother-Commander Leverre stared into the cavern’s pitch-black maw, giving his eyes time to adjust in the hope of being able to make out something. However, the darkness was complete, and no amount of time would allow him a glimpse of what lay within. Darkness in such a remote, wild place was always unsettling, but he could do something about it.
He closed his useless eyes and held out his hand. Ignoring the shuffling and muttering of his subordinates, he focussed his mind entirely on his task. A tingle started on the skin of his hand and spread over his entire body. Leverre smiled at the familiar and welcome sensation, then smiled even wider when he felt something else—a dense concentration of magical energy. The Fount, and far more intense than he had ever encountered before. It was just as the Prince Bishop had described. This had to be what he was looking for. When he opened his eyes, he could see the bare skin of his hand glow with an ethereal blue light for a moment. He wondered if the feeling of exhilaration he experienced every time he used magic would ever leave him. Considering how long he had been at it, he doubted it.
“I don’t know if we’ve found it,” he said, “but there’s definitely something here.” He could see the look of relief in the faces of his people. They had been searching the mountains for weeks, and it had taken its toll on them all. Their Order was still ostensibly a secret—while their existence was not concealed, their purpose and true nature were, on pain of death. That meant they couldn’t take advantage of the few comforts that could be found in these remote areas, instead having to stay away from any hint of civilisation and make their beds wherever they could find a dry, sheltered spot. The thought that their search might be over excited even him—not just the prospect of going home, but what success in his task would mean for his career.
He pointed his finger into the cavern, and focussed. A stone’s throw away, a glowing orb formed, casting light on rock that had likely never felt its touch before. He repeated the process a half-dozen times until all parts of the cavern in view were illuminated. He admired his handiwork and enjoyed the impressed sounds his people made. Creating a magical light was a simple enough thing, but to cast it at a distance, many times in a row, spoke to the skill of the caster, and none of the others were nearly powerful enough to achieve such a feat. Nonetheless, he could feel the strain it had placed on his body, and knew he needed a few moments to recuperate.
“Begin the search,” he said, concealing the fatigue that gripped him, so as to maintain his aura of power. He remained still as the dozen sergeants, corporals, brothers, and sisters made their way past him and into the cavern.
Only the two sergeants were able to wield magic with any strength. The rest could detect the object they were looking for if they got close enough, but most would need another five or six years of training and experience before they could do anything useful. Despite that, they were among the best the Order had. They would improve, but it was the next generation from whom the true rewards would be reaped. Such a slow process was frustrating, but even if the progress was slow, the gains were always worthwhile. Leverre’s own had been few and far between recently, and he suspected he had reached the plateau of ability his late start had imposed upon him. In a few years, the younger acolytes would surpass him. Until then, though, he would enjoy the awe with which his people viewed him.